


Nostra

by rosey_finch



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe, And Sakura has seen some shit, And a gruff rough past, F/M, M/M, Murder, Naruto has a drinking problem, Sasuke's a highbow sheltered mommy's boy, They're cops in the loosest sense of the word, mafia, or maybe more like detectives
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:00:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26013766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosey_finch/pseuds/rosey_finch
Summary: Jaded and roughed up, Naruto isn't much of anything anymore: least of all himself.
Relationships: Haruno Sakura/Uchiha Sasuke, Naruto Uzumaki/Undecided, Uchiha Sasuke & Uzumaki Naruto, Uzumaki Naruto & Yamanaka Ino
Kudos: 2





	Nostra

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure if I'll finish this, I wrote it as a quick 30 mins challenge. But it's pretty fun, so here we go regardless.

By the side of a deserted desert road stands a big, dated billboard. Its size is obnoxious, invasive and out of place amidst the barren wasteland surrounding it, and it promotes the bar next to it. JACK’S COWGIRLS, it reads with big bold letters against the all-black silhouette of a busty woman. It continues in a much smaller, curlier font: _for good times and drinks._

Naruto pulls up in his truck, kicking up dust clouds and disturbing the quiet dusk with the country twang creaking out from his much-abused radio, and the beige-yellow-orange of the scenery unsmudges the closer he gets. He blinks the sleep out of his eyes best he can, pulling up his shaggy pants as he jumps out, and there they are: bullet holes, too many of them to count, covering the aged wood of the bar like stamps. The place is completely shot to hell. Chunks of wood and splinters litter the ground where the rookie cops aren’t already littering it themselves with early lunchbreak cigarette buds and deli store sandwich wrappers.

“You’re late,” Sasuke tells him when he steps through whatever is left of the doorway. Little remains of the lounge that isn’t dripping red, though Naruto doesn’t think this place used to look much better prior to its violent remodelling.

A limp girl with thick bangs lays on the pool table in a fantastic dress, another makes for a crumbled, nearly naked heap at the bottom of a stage-pole, engulfed in the shadows at the back-end of the room. Both have a forensic’s goon hanging over them, two more are bagging and tagging the other corpses laying about in those stupid full-body condoms they wear. There’s empty shells covering every available surface – but mostly the floor, because there are no standing surfaces left to cover.

 _False advertising_ , Naruto thinks as he beelines to the ruins of what once must have been a bar counter, evading toppled chairs and tables. _No good times here._

There’s too much sequin to be a funeral in the traditional sense of the word, but looking at the mess in front of him, Naruto knocks one back a stray drink anyway. As the sole survivor of the massacre, deserves to serve its purpose. Naturally, it’s only fair to browse the rest of the bottles – just to see if there’s something worth taking into custody.

“For your sake, I hope that wasn’t roofied.” Sasuke says, neatly stepping around a shattered bottle on the floor. It wasn’t – no roofies, just watered down, stale whiskey. A familiar taste.

Sasuke follows wordlessly behind, taking it all in with an irate, disgusted air about him eyes. His eyebrow’s doing something incredibly impressive. Naruto resists making fun of his New York stockbroker, oxford shoes – they’ve only just started to pretend to get along the way partners should, he doesn’t want bad dreams and interrupted sleep to get in the way of their rocky not-so bonding.

“I haven’t had breakfast yet,” Naruto replies, waving a hand groggily and scratching at his stubble. “And I checked for wood chips.”

“Check if you’ve set your alarms properly, next time.” Sasuke counters, looking miffed at first, then thoroughly displeased when he catches sight of another day-old body behind the counter. He looks a minute or two removed from calling the forensics over like they’re waitstaff, actually, and it’s only because Naruto understands the importance of not fucking with anyone that does your lab work that he takes his second glass – and first bottle – with him to go back outside.

Sasuke, to his credit, gets the hint and keeps his mouth shut. He follows behind like he wants to jump over the blood puddles, but it’s all trial and error – he’s finally getting the way things work, the way Naruto works. Baby steps.

When they pass by the rookies again, the Inuzuka kid offering him a tuna sub in greeting. It’s appreciated, but declined with a tired grunt and a ruffle to his hair. They make their way to the back of the fine establishment, much more deserted but just as roughed up as the front.

“I think it’s cartel,” Sasuke finally begins once Naruto downed the first shot, pouring a second one right after. “I want to contact my brother, see if he knows anything.”

“How about,” Naruto takes a swig of the bottle, hands the shotglass to Sasuke just to see the expression on his face, “how about you solve this on your lonesome, without your big bad brother panting down your neck?”

That gets him more instant frowns and crossed arms. It’s that bitchy, entitled expression that makes Naruto feel like they’ll never even manage a fraction of that easy, silent understanding he had with Ino. Sasuke also holds the shot in between two fingertips like its evidence, and he wants to tamper with it as little as possible.

Well – technically it _is_ evidence, but that’s neither here nor there. It’s almost as annoying as it is funny.

“Any ideas why they called us in the morning?” Naruto prompts and there is it, the beginnings of a headache. Another swig follows.

“All we have is one witness,” Sasuke tells him only now, covering his eyes from the early, glaring sun. “One. She’s so traumatised, they couldn’t start the car – mention driving her to the station, and she loses it. My brother-”

“Yeah?” Naruto interrupts, kicking at a couple of gleaming needles with the tippy toes of his boots. They scatter easily enough, springing up from under the sand. “Is she getting more sandwiches or something? Where’s she at?”

“She’s in my car.” _My_ car – Sasuke’s hackles seem to rise the more the conversation drags on. Which is great, because Naruto’s keen on preserving the peace and being in agreement. If Sasuke hates talking to him, they don’t need to. Ground rules established, badabing, badaboom. “All she’s giving me is her stage name.”

Trial and error. He’ll get it in time, and Naruto’ll take the backseat at last. Ino didn’t let him, but Sasuke’s so eager to prove himself. Too eager, maybe. 

Without another word, Naruto turns around, spotting a blur of pink in the back of their newly-issued, dusty cop car and heading for it. It takes a second, but he can blink the girl into clarity soon. She’s wearing too much eyeliner, a ripped tank top and tacky shorts. Got eye-bags to rival his, too, and she decorates them with creased concealer and runny mascara. She sits like she wants to disappear into herself until he knocks on the window – then she jumps in her seat like a frightened rabbit.

“Let me guess: Ariel or something?”

“Cassiopeia.”

Naruto whistles. “Fancy.”

It’s a little like staring into a finishing bowl. She looks back with these big, dazed eyes. Her pupils are blown crazy wide, it’s almost hard to pick out the green around them. No wonder she didn’t call the cops till the morning after. Too soon, though.

“She’s off her rockers,” Naruto manages a rough laugh. “Guess big bro wasn’t into dope, huh?”

“Of course not,” Sasuke looks close to throwing a fit. “What’s that supposed to mean?” How the hell did this kid graduate the academy? He screams homeschooled. Instead of asking, Naruto takes another nice big gulp.

“Just drive Cass to the station already, would ya?” He breaks the silence, patting his pockets for a cigarette. “I’ll see you there.”

He doesn’t stick around for the rules and regulations spiel Sasuke’s brain is cooking up, or his calls and protests. Feet dragging, he heads for his truck. If he’s floors it, he can make it to Ichiraku’s before 12:00; get his breakfast combi to go. Maybe nap in the parking lot until his _partner_ blows a fuse and gets him.

Babysteps.


End file.
